A bird in its cage
by robindennoir
Summary: Hello, this is my first upload, so excuse the mistakes. This is how i feel Edward Rochester felt towards the women under his roof after he returns at the beginning of the novel, having fallen from his horse and sprained his ankle. Feel free to leave a review if you have any ideas on what i could do to improve this or move it on further and hello to the person who favourited this :)
1. Chapter 1

This blasted ankle is driving me beyond the point of madness. With that woman residing upstairs, whilst the cause of my condition continues to blissfully teach my ward from a woman who does not belong to me through either blood or sentiment. Is my house to be always so overrun with the insufferable creatures? The latest to join our party?

A Miss Jane Eyre.

Plain perhaps, but she has the look of another world about her, as though the worries and troubles of here and now are of no concern or bother to her at all. She is young, she is yet to experience what fate can do when angered no doubt.

I see her, wandering around when the Child is asleep or busy. Like a silent bird she searches this cage we are all encompassed in, looking for some escape. I have lived here long enough to know she will not find a permanent one. Regardless, she takes a strange comfort in reading, at first I put it down to the usual whimsical behaviour of young women, such as what Blanche does to amuse her time whilst she waits on some wretch to praise her, and except the more I study Eyre, the less of an ordinary woman I find myself in the presence of.

She has sense, an uncommon trait I've found amongst the fickle creatures. And pride, but she knows when to check it, a talent I wish I possess more of. It's as if, she knows what she wants from this world, but respects how much of it is within her grasp as a governess. What I would give to uncover the truth of her thoughts though. To know the true Jane Eyre.

I have a plan, I shall ensure all other staff and children alike are not present and shall informally question her, how she finds her new position with regards to her old one, that type of notion. See what she accidentally uncovers there.

My candle is thinning, I shall lose light soon.

Edward


	2. A bird that sings

Reader, what a curious creature this 'Eyre' is.

I followed through on my decision and engaged her in conversation this night, after having dismissed the housekeeper and the Child, and never have I been so amazed at a woman. She is not the same, plain bird as any other, she is capable to hold her own on the battle ground. I shall retell how it followed;

"You have been here 3 months, do you approve of your position?"

"Yes sir," she replied, no emotion traced in her voice, as though I addressed a stone.

"And before here, you resided at where exactly?"

"Lowood school sir."

"And how long did you reside there for?" At this I noticed she slightly adjusted her position, and glanced over my shoulder, as though she were uncomfortable with the question. Curious, is it not, that this question, which should be lacking in personal opinion was to be the one that led to an emotion, although what I cannot say, and within a moment it was passed, replaced again with the same grey cold stone from before.

"Eight years sir." She murmured, barely taking her eyes off the rug to glance at my reaction. I leaned back in my faded chair by the fire and allowed for her words to sink in.

"Eight years is a long time. But I daresay there were breaks to it." I murmured, more to myself than the other occupant in the room.

"Hardly." She whispered a sense of sorrow in her tone. I looked up, shocked at her continuation of the conversation without my encouragement.

"Parents?" I dared to ask, instantly regretting the decision.

"None." But reader, this was not whispered, nor shyly replied. It was a bold and open statement, there was no shame, or want for pity in her eyes as she boldly stared me out, unafraid, as if having confessed it alone was enough to break a barrio between us.

I inwardly smiled at this progression, and felt little shame in my next statement.

"And your people? I dare say you were waiting for them not long ago, by the river I saw you gazing out at?" She looked puzzled.

"For whom sir?"

"Your relatives, the people who brought you to my door one cold winters evening." She smiled, a bitter sweet expression if I ever saw one.

"I have none sir," she replied with an utter sincerity I believed without a trace of doubt, "they have long since abandoned me."

"Ah, so it was your green men and goblins that you wait for by the stream?" I cocked an eyebrow, hoping for her to rise to the bait I placed before her, and oh did she encourage the idea.

"Oh no, your land is neither harsh nor baron enough. Shine a light where you please sir, you shall find no trace of them, I am alone here now."

My laughter was soon stopped by the return of Mrs Fairfax, the wretched housekeeper.

"And I daresay, it was your peoples' advice that sent you here, before retiring to a more gruesome land?" Mrs Fairfax looked dumbfounded, and turned to Miss Eyre to watch her reply as it was uttered from her lips.

"I advertised, sir, and it was Mrs Fairfax who replied offering me the position."

"And I thank God daily for her presence," the old woman chorused, "She is an invaluable member of our household. Adele has improved greatly since-"

"Do not attempt to give Miss Eyre a character," I interrupted, already growing weary at the sound of her voice, "I shall judge our new governess for myself. It was her at least, who caused my injury, her board already has the chalk smudged across it."

"I did not." She retorted, instantly averting her eyes and shrinking further back into her chair, as if wishing for it to consume her from my line of sight.

"You bewitched my horse, admit it." I resumed, a glint in my eye I was sure that she noted.

"And if I did, do you suppose I would admit to it? Perhaps it was you who caused your horse to stumble in the mist." Reader I felt like a celebration at that line, she knew exactly what she was implying and oh it was glorious.

"You have never lived in town, I suppose, with that air."

"No sir," she dutifully replied curiously.

"Nor been around society I suppose." I mused.

"Only that of the inmates at Lowood and here sir."

"Hmm," clever reply, "and you read?"

"Books are not readily at my disposal sir, but when they are available, yes, I read."

"And these paintings," I continued, reaching for where I had pearched them before she entered, "you were happy when you created them?"

What I watched next, was one of the most curious moments of inner torment I have ever witnessed within a woman. On the one hand, I could tell she was somewhat enraged at my looking through them had caused, but at the same time, a desperation to show someone what her talents, and reader it is a serious talent she possesses, truly are.

"Yes sir," she whispered, "to paint is one of the keenest pleasures I know."

"Then your pleasures have been few." I cried, instantly wishing to sink into my chair with a similar fashion she had done not ten minutes previously." And where did you receive your originals?" I questioned, trying to divert the conversation back to the original topic.

"My own head, sir."  
"The very one I see on your shoulders now?"

"The very one sir."

I would be deceiving myself if I were to say that I was not shocked. The paintings were, for a school girl, odd. Never before had I seen anything with such detail and complicated design.

"And were you happy when you wrote them?" I continued, desiring more from this caged bird before me.

"No."

"Why?" to this, she smiled.

"I imagine things I am powerless to execute. It is not a talent I own." She was not being modest, but genuine, she believed that she was lacking in skills with a brush. There mere notion outraged me but I chose not to pursue it, for fear of forcing her into a submissive retreat having made it so far.

"Sir, it is past nine, Adele must be taken to bed." She interrupted, having seen my hesitation. I inwardly praised her for that.

"Of course, of course." I flicked my hand, "you may all leave."

Once I was alone, I pondered over our conversation and the topics we had covered, and it came to my attention, that for all of the questions she answered, so many more were opened. I shall have to pursue this creature more, till I can discover what unearthly being she is truly.

Until I have leave to write again.

Edward


	3. A bird that hides

For the subsequent days, I saw little of the encaged bird. She kept to her business of educating Adele and I resumed my usual occupation of distracting myself from the infernal damnation I was encompassed in. Distinguished gentlemen, supposedly, called and out of no more than boredom at the dull society of England languished for dinner and drink, leaving me little time for the Child and her intriguing Supervisor.

That does not mean to say that the two were void from my existence, no not at all, I wouldn't permit Eyre to believe herself off the hook.

As we walked past in corridors I would smile and scowl as the mood took me, her giving the same sympathetic nod as though my abrupt swings did not shake her in its wake. Why I chose to torment her like this reader I could not tell you, but I took an almost perverse interest in watching her reaction and trying to guess at what point she would spread her wings and force myself to back away. And yet, that moment never came. She bore every twist and turn I threw at her as though I had never made them, a perplexing curiosity. It was as if I were not there in her mind.

That being said, I did converse with the curious bird every now and again. A brief word in the library here and there over a book, a quick question as to her health and that of the child, but nothing enough to induce that brain of hers to spill more of it intriguing secrets.


End file.
